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  • On the journey here, coffee from a Turkish coffee pot has always meant home for my family. A copper pot was essential equipment for my grandfather and father on their travels around the world as Greek merchant seamen from the island of Chios, in the Northern Aegean. Also a symbol of the Ottomanised Greek homeland as it took its place in the Pop-Art, late-Fifties-early-Sixties kitchen of my parents' apartment in Montreal, where I was born. Impossible for me to part from this ambivalent artefact of an immigrant family and my Londoner's identity, I cleave to a sense of displaced roots. This pot was bought from the Algerian Coffee Store in Soho and was given to my future wife as a token of serious intent long before it occurred to me as an afterthought to consider an engagement ring.
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